


Best Foot Forward

by Spinning_In_Infinity



Category: Deadpool (Movieverse), Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: First Date, Fluff, M/M, Not smut I'm afraid but much fluff, Peter is Nineteen, Rollerblades & Rollerskates, Rollerskating anyone?, Spideypool - Freeform, roller disco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-12-25 23:36:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18271394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spinning_In_Infinity/pseuds/Spinning_In_Infinity
Summary: "Since donning the Spidey suit, dating had become somewhat low on Peter’s list of priorities. He supposed it made sense that the first date he’d go on since he was sixteen would be with another super. He would just have never guessed that super would be Wade Wilson."orWade invites Peter on a date straight out of the nineties.





	Best Foot Forward

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mikazure](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikazure/gifts).



Since donning the Spidey suit, dating had become somewhat low on Peter’s list of priorities.

  When you were a crime-fighter in New York City, life was rather like being a single parent to a child that’s discovered the colourful bottles under the sink, and most of his spare time was devoted to college or sleeping. He supposed it made sense that the first date he’d go on since he was sixteen would be with another super. He would just have never guessed that super would be Wade Wilson – ie. Deadpool, the Merc with a Mouth, whose idea of criminal justice generally involved the detachment of limbs or genitalia. Definitely not the sort of person he’d envisioned himself revealing his identity to.

  Not that it had been intentional. He’d been eighteen years old, sitting on the edge of a rooftop to eat his dinner, mask pulled up around his nose. It had been a humid evening in mid-August, and while the latest model of the suit included breathable fabric with temperature-adaptable fibres, he’d decided to take his mask off for a minute. His spider-senses were humming along peacefully, and it just wasn’t quite the same viewing the sunset through his visors. The fact that his senses didn’t alert him to Wade’s presence until he was practically on top of him was his first clue that the merc was maybe not as bad as the other Avengers had painted him. He’d been advised by Tony, Steve _and_ Nat to stay the hell out of the merc’s bloody path, that he was a vicious psycho murderer who would slice Peter’s throat for a dime. Or words to that effect. He had not been expecting a bright, chipper voice to exclaim: “Spider-Man?!” and almost startle him off the ledge. He’d dropped his sandwich, which met a grizzly fate on the fire escape below, and looked the new arrival straight in the face before realising, too late, that his mask was still laid out on the ledge beside him.

  Peter hadn’t thought it was possible for the heart-eyes emoji to be physically possible in real life, but even with the barrier of eye-whites and the red canvas Deadpool managed it. Even through the mask Peter could distinguish an expression of total delight upon seeing him. Snapping to his senses, he did the first thing he could think of and clapped both hands over his face. The sound of Deadpool’s low chuckle was followed by the feeling of something soft being push over the top of his head. He realised it was his mask, and gripped onto the hem to tug it down around his neck. It was a small kindness, but it was enough to somewhat quell the overwhelming sense of panic thundering through his veins. Deadpool dropped down beside him and pulled out a couple of candy bars from his utility belt, depositing one in Peter’s lap.   

  “D’you know how many people there are in this city?”

  The normality of the question had thrown Peter somewhat, so he just stared.

  “Me neither,” Deadpool said. “But I’d bet it’s a lot.”

  “What’s your point?” He tried to keep the tremor out of his voice and an eyes on the hefty handgun strapped to the bigger man’s waist. Deadpool pushed the bottom of his mask up to reveal the scarred flesh Peter had heard about, taking a large bite of chocolate.    

  “Did you ever see the episode of _Justice League Unlimited_ where the Flash and Lex Luthor switch bodies?”

  Peter’s brain swam with the randomness of this conversation after such a life-changing moment.

  “What—?”

  “Wait, wrong universe. Oh, well. Basically, this supervillain swaps bodies with a superhero, and Luthor pulls off the Flash’s mask to learn his secret identity. Except once he sees him, he’s like: ‘I have no idea who this is’.”

  “Right . . .?”

  “What I’m saying is,” Deadpool turned to look him right in the face. Peter felt his cheeks flame under his mask. “There’s got to be about eight million people in this city. What are the chances that I’d ever seen that face again, more’s the pity?”

  “I guess . . .”

  “And how would I even find out your name? Ask around if anyone knows a pretty-as-fuck kid with a bangin’ bod and a mouth made for breaking morals?”        

  “I’m not a kid,” Peter said weakly, only just able to process this part of the sentence.

  “Just as well, for the sake of the antis.”

  “You’re weird.”

  Deadpool grinned, straight white teeth gleaming in the half-dark, but now reminding Peter less of a tiger closing in on its prey and more like a Cheshire cat crowned in smugness.

  “Eat your sugar, Spidey,” he said, nodding at the bar still resting in Peter’s lap. Peter cautiously unwrapped the sweet and took a bite, his mouth filling with chocolate and popping candy.

  It was a strange start to a friendship, but for all Wade’s psychopathic tendencies and wayward morals (and at Tony’s firm displeasure), he’d somehow learned to trust him. It had been a few weeks until their paths had crossed again. Peter had heard someone screaming for help, only to discover it was some low-life having his fingers lovingly dislocated by Wade. The guy was a drug dealer, known for selling to kids and students, but Peter still convinced Wade to leave him strung up for the cops instead of dismembered in various dumpsters. He got the feeling the thug was as grateful to him as the police were.

  Peter didn’t see Wade as a person he needed to “fix” – he had enough of his own problems without trying to solve someone else’s – but he considered it in the city’s best interests to keep tabs on the trigger-happy nutjob for a bit. “Keeping tabs” turned into closely monitored teamwork, and Wade seemed content enough to leave their targets relatively unscathed if it meant he got to spend more time with Peter. Peter couldn’t begin to explain how their unlikely friendship had evolved into the shatterproof trust he now shared with the merc, but he wasn’t about to look such a rare gift horse in the mouth. The other Avengers, Tony with extensive convincing, had also come around to the idea of adding Deadpool to their crime fighting roster – the guy could still be one hell of a loose cannon, but everyone knew Peter had some strange hold over him that kept him safely muzzled on missions. Even if Peter himself was unaware of it. He innocently assumed that so much exposure to how justice was _supposed_ to be done had been a good influence on him; he didn’t see what the others did – that Wade simply wouldn’t do anything that would make him look bad in his beloved Spidey’s eyes. The rest of the team didn’t know what sort of work Wade did outside of their missions – he was still a contract killer, after all – but they didn’t make too much of an effort to find out. Peter was happy, and his friendship with Wade made it easier for them to keep tabs on the merc’s lawless activities, for the most part.    

  Things had started to change a little while after Peter’s nineteenth birthday, when he found himself ready to trust Wade not only with watching his back, but with his life. This revelation made his decision to properly reveal his identity to his friend seem perfectly logical. Wade had long since gone maskless in front of him, but had never pressured Peter to do the same.

  The ceremony had been almost anticlimactic, to Peter’s way of thinking. When he’d pulled off his mask, Wade had simply smiled – with only the softest of heart-eyes – and ruffled his hair.

  “There’s my cutie-pie,” he’d said, as though he was seeing Peter’s face after a day, as opposed to almost an entire year.

  It was also around this time that Peter had begun to fall for him. He’d recognised that he had something of a crush on the vigilante (with a muscle ratio and sense of humour like that, how could he not?) some time ago, but this was the first time he found himself envisioning more than just a passionate rooftop fumble with his friend. Not to say he didn’t want that – boy, did he want that – but he also wanted to go on long walks in Central Park, to go to movies together, to wake up wrapped in Wade’s strong arms. Even for Wade to just call him by his name would be enough to set his heart racing.

  He knew Wade was pansexual – social constructs like gender and orientation were as important as beeswax and navel lint to his way of thinking – but that somehow didn’t make approaching a confession any easier. He was terrified of offering his heart to Wade on a plate and Wade simply eating it like a burrito, or grounding it to pulp under his boot, intentionally or otherwise.

  So when Wade had ambushed him in the corridor at the Avengers Tower one day and said, “Yo, Petey, wanna go on a date?” Peter was torn between unbridled excitement and trepidation. It seemed too good to be true that his best friend returned his feelings – his luck had never run so smoothly as to allow that – but he certainly wasn’t going to say no.       

  Wade had said to wear something comfortable, so he’d gone for jeans and a long-sleeved check shirt, since there was still a bite of chill in the March air. He didn’t know if the location of their date was going to be indoors or outdoors, so he’d also added a padded body warmer, which gave him something of a Marty McFly look. He rolled a pebble under the rubber of his sneaker sole, hands in his pockets, feeling the beat of the roller rink disco behind him reverberating through his body. He’d thought it a little strange when Wade had asked if they could meet here – there wasn’t anywhere really _date_ -worthy in this neighbourhood, save for the revival theatre, now playing a run of old Elvis movies.

  His phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out, unlocking the screen and looking at the message he’d just received.

  _Where are you?_

  _At the roller rink,_ Peter texted back. _Where are you?_

_I’m here. Can’t see you. Did you get boots already?_

Boots? A slow realisation dawned on Peter and he turned to face the large building behind him. The roller rink had been around since the eighties, but Peter had never considered it as a place people actually _went_ to, let alone on dates. The faded hum of _The Loco-Motion_ could be heard through the walls. Peter pocketed his phone and pushed open the swinging doors. The building had been long-since vamped into more than just a rink – there was a small diner, an arcade, even a three-lane bowling alley in the corner. The big oval arena took pride of place, however, in the very centre of the room, a respectable crowd of people skating in circles round its circumference. A rainbow of coloured strobe lights illuminated the skaters, giving the place such an 80’s vibe that Peter didn’t feel too out of place in his Marty McFly get-up. Kylie Minogue faded out and was replaced by Belinda Carlisle’s _Heaven is a Place on Earth_. It was at this point that Peter noticed one particular figure, skating in smooth, even laps, around the edge of the rink. It was difficult to determine colours with the disco lights, but he was wearing his usual casual attire of a hoodie and jeans, his normal sneakers replaced by 80’s-style roller-boots. As though connected by a telepathic link, Wade looked up towards the doors and his face broke into a wide smile under the hood of his sweater. Peter noticed he was also wearing _My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic_ baseball cap. Why they made those in grown men’s sizes he didn’t want to know.

  Peter approached the rail that surrounded the rink and waited as Wade glided gracefully over. On the battlefield, his movements most resembled those of a big cat or wolf – lithe, powerful, with deadly grace and undeniable strength. Here, he seemed more akin to a manta ray – seamlessly weaving through the shoal of skaters.

  “Hey,” he said with his familiar grin. “I was beginning to think I’d be dancing with myself tonight.”

  “I didn’t realise you meant we’d be going _here_ ,” Peter said. “You just said to meet you outside.”

  “Inside.”

  “You said outside.”

  “Yeah, inside,” Wade’s eyes sparkled impishly and he did an expertly tight spin-on-the-spot. “Need to get you some boots, Petey-pie.”

  Peter glanced at the other skaters. He was loathed to admit it, but his natural grace had never extended further than what his webs allowed him. His feet were substantially less elegant in their movement when fixed on the ground, particularly when attached to a set of tiny wheels.

  “I can just watch,” he said, trying to sound casual.

  “Nuh-uh, baby boy,” Wade said, and Peter blushed. Once Wade was off the rink, he allowed himself to be dragged over to the rental booth and presented with a pair of size eight boots. He sat down on one of the steps that elevated the rest of the room from the rink, and laced himself into the skates. His feet felt heavy and clunky, and he had to cling to a nearby table to haul himself upright, Wade waiting patiently just inside the entrance to the rink. Peter attempted a reverse moonwalk across the carpet, reluctant to lift his feet from the floor. The moment his wheels transitioned from fabric to smooth wood panelling, they clearly decided Peter’s butt needed to become better acquainted with the floor.

  “Whoopsie,” Wade laughed, holding out a hand to help the furiously blushing hero back up. “Baby steps, baby boy.”

  He felt a warm rush of pleasure flood his chest. It would never do for Wade to ever discover just how much Peter felt prepared to do for him every time he used that nickname – even make an abject idiot of himself on a set of skates. He was slightly disappointed when Wade let go of his hand, allowing him to regain his balance on his own, and glided into position in front of him.

  “How are you so good at this?” Peter demanded, one hand fixed to the rail.

  “Please,” Wade said, as though it were obvious. He scooted backwards, weaving in perfect figures of eight, then thrusting forward and rolling on one foot back up to Peter. “I was kicking skater butt before you were a twinkle in the milkman’s eye.”

  Peter shuffled a couple of inches along the rail, his eyes fixed firmly on the floor. Before he could protest, a pair of large hands grabbed his and pulled him into the swirling vortex of bodies in the centre of the rink. Peter felt his feet wobble and he went down again, but Wade’s strong arms caught him before he hit the floor. Setting him on his feet, Wade let go of his hands and circled him like a shark closing in on its prey, while Peter stood with his arms and legs spread out, like he was about to start doing star-jumps. Wade slid up behind him and took hold of one of his outstretched hands, placing the other gently on his waist, and Peter thought his ears might catch fire from the sudden blood-rush.

  “C’mon,” his spine shivered at the warmth of Wade’s breath on his neck, “let’s get romantic with this shit, shall we?”

  Leaving the propulsion purely in Wade’s hands (or rather, feet), Peter allowed himself to be gently guided across the wooden floor, his stomach swooping from both the anticipation of falling and the pressure of Wade’s long fingers. Without warning, Wade increased speed, and Peter’s insides gave an unpleasant jolt as they surged across the rink.

  “WadeWadeWadeWade!” he gripped tightly onto his driver’s sweater, but Wade didn’t let them become unbalanced, leaning into Peter’s body and steering them in a slow curve to the left, following the flow of the crowd. His hand crept further round Peter’s stomach, moving lower until he felt calloused fingers brushing the skin of his belly at the hem of his shirt. He placed his own hand there, nervously slipping his fingers between the gaps of Wade’s. He felt Wade sigh against him and press a soft kiss to the crown of his head.

  “Do you trust me?” Wade said.

  Peter grinned. “I trust you,” he replied, the Rose to Wade’s Jack Dawson.

  He let Wade push him faster and faster, until he could almost feel a breeze ruffling his hair. His heart was pounding with exhilaration as they went round and round and round the rink, smooth as birds in flight. Peter squealed with almost girlish surprise when Wade leaned down, mid-circuit, and scooped him off the ground completely – holding him horizontally under one arm, one hand supporting his chest, the other around his calves, keeping his legs aloft. It was truly like flying, and Peter extended his arms and laughed with delight as people stared at them. Peter was used to feeling weightless – soaring through open skies between the New York buildings – but it felt so different in Wade’s arms. He trusted him with everything.

  Eventually, one of the staff members told them to cut it out, in case Peter’s booted feet caught a kid in the head or something, and Wade slowed, releasing his hold on Peter and returning him to a standing position. Peter staggered a little and Wade wheeled him to the rail, letting him catch his breath.

  “Fun?” he asked, his dark eyes shining with hopeful amusement.

  Peter stared into Wade’s face – skin distorted and deformed – and fisted both his hands in the front of his sweater. He pulled Wade down, pressing their lips together and pouring all the admiration and affection he felt for the insane, infuriating, wonderful man into his kiss.

  When they pulled apart, Wade looked a little stunned, and Peter was nervous for a moment. Then Wade pushed a lock of Peter’s hair away from his forehead and cupped his face in his palm. He smiled, and Peter’s heart beamed like the spotlights illuminating them from all angles.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.”     

                        


End file.
